Page 46 of The Hearth Witch’s Guide to Magic & Murder (The Hemlock Saga #1)
Fitzrovia Chapel was one of those strange locations in London you could go your whole life without knowing about, even if you passed it daily.
Once the site of the Middlesex Hospital, it was a small, unassuming brick building surrounded by a grove of bloomless magnolia trees and bordered by office buildings.
As suspected, parking just outside of Pearson Square had been taken, but they’d found a spot on the street just one block over.
The sky had been threatening rain all morning, but remained merely overcast and superficially blustery, causing the party to huddle together as they hurried out of the chill.
They ducked through the singular door behind two other mourners before they truly had a moment to take stock of their surroundings.
Over a dozen types of marble made up the floor, walls, and ceiling, crafted into mosaic borders, tiles, and even great pillars that supported the cloister vaulted ceilings.
Cool gray daylight gave the stained glass windows that lined the hallway in front of them a soft glow and cast a shine along the golden mosaic ceiling that reflected even the smallest hint of light.
From their position in the entryway, Avery could see that directly down the hall was an altar, adorned with portraits and objects of sentimental importance to the deceased.
A woman with a clipboard and headset greeted them with a polite English smile. “Names?”
“Hudson,” Leigh answered for the group. “There should be four seats reserved for us.”
Avery noticed the way the woman’s voice tightened when she reached the word “four.” It was a reminder that while the number of their party had not changed, the members had. The seat Avery herself would be taking had been meant for Saoirse.
The woman found the name near the top of her list and crossed something out.
“You will notice behind me in the alcove to your left, we do have the casket present, but per the family’s request it will not be open for viewing.
Following the ceremony, the family would like to invite everyone across the way to the Arber Garden for a small reception. ”
“Will we not be following the hearse to the graveyard?” asked Saga.
“No ma’am, following the funeral, the body will be prepared for cremation.”
Saga nodded but leaned toward Avery once they were out of earshot. “Closed casket, cremation… Call me paranoid, but I have a feeling something may be suspicious about that body…”
True to the event organizer’s word, a beautiful casket sat on a stand in the alcove to their left. It was surrounded by candles, including what appeared to be approximately forty-some votives on a stand in front of it.
After a quick count, Avery could see that the number of lit votives matched the number of current funeral attendees. A beautiful portrait of the woman she presumed to be Eira Goff sat on an easel beside the casket and votives.
She was a striking woman, with a strong bone structure and bright eyes accentuated by dark lush lashes.
She had the regal air of a queen posing for a coronation painting, her white hair swept up off her neck elegantly.
She wore a white lab coat over a cerulean dress.
The only jewelry she wore was a pair of golden knot earring studs that matched the frame around the painting.
Avery liked Eira’s smile. She had a clever look about her.
Her companions lit their own votives before Lahiri took a step back and quietly made his way up the aisle of chairs toward the altar. Leigh and Saga stayed behind, and it wasn’t until Avery saw them take hands and light the fourth candle together that she understood what was happening.
“They’re together now,” Saga whispered, squeezing Leigh’s hand comfortingly.
Leigh audibly sniffed and carefully glided her fingertips beneath each eye so as to not smudge her makeup.
Avery took a step back from the two, feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic as the Hudson women said goodbye to two mother figures.
Her eyes wandered to the rest of the congregation, catching sight of Lahiri shaking the hand of a man in his mid-forties.
He was lightly tanned while his hair had gone prematurely salt-and-pepper gray.
There was a familiarity between the two men but a distant one—they knew each other, but not well. Perhaps he was one of the family.
“Do you need help lighting a candle?” A voice asked beside her.
Avery startled and realized both Leigh and Saga had moved on, leaving her standing in front of the votives and holding up those behind her. She turned to the owner of the voice, staring eye to eye with a young man whose face was suspiciously symmetrical.
He had golden blond hair, warm caramel brown eyes, and a faint dusting of freckles that hit just across the bridge of his straight nose.
He appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties, but he pitched his voice low, as if he was eager to appear older.
“I don’t mean to interrupt. You just seem lost. I’d be honored to help a beautiful woman in need. ”
Avery looked from the votive altar to the newcomer and shook her head with a tight smile, stepping to the side and out of the way of the mourners behind her.
“It wouldn’t be right. I’m afraid I didn’t know her.
” Realizing this was not the sort of thing a normal person said at funerals, she rapidly clarified.
“I’m here as emotional support for…” She glanced around for Saga but had lost sight of her temporarily and finished her sentence clumsily with, “my date.” She prayed she’d at least used the term properly.
The golden boy affected surprise. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you came here with someone.” He followed her off to the side, surprise melting into sheepishness. “I thought you might be with the press.”
Avery quirked an eyebrow, but without Saga to guide her, she had to muddle through on her own. “The press” was likely shorthand for “printing press,” which likely meant this person thought she was some kind of journalist. “Why would you think that?”
“You would be surprised at some of the tricks they have pulled over the years, I have no doubt one of them will try to sneak in. I know every face on the guest list, yet I don’t recognize you.”
Avery’s brow relaxed, and her face fell into an easy smile at her good fortune. If he wasn’t lying, this could very well be a very useful person. “Avery.” She extended her hand.
He took it, but rather than the expected firm handshake, he bowed his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Benjamin.”
It was an act that under normal circumstances would have caused Avery to pull away, but his forwardness and prolonged contact allowed her to feel for any residual traces of magic.
Finding none, she pulled back as delicately as she could manage without looking uncomfortable.
For now she would treat him as a Mundane with striking genetics.
“Benjamin.” Avery repeated his name, maintaining eye contact.
The coaxing magical melody of her voice wrapped around his name, and she began the process of beckoning the verbal floodgates to open.
“Who are you that you know every face here, Benjamin? Security, perhaps?”
The young man grinned. “Oh, I like you, you’re funny.
” It was not the response she expected, but she could tell by the way his voice had raised back to its natural octave, the spell was working.
He was already feeling more comfortable around her.
To her dismay, this meant he also looped his arm in hers in order to lead her away from the candles.
“But you’re taking the play-dumb thing a little too far.
Who did you convince to bring you along?
Or more importantly, who do you work for? ”
“Scotland Yard.” It was an easy and familiar lie.
Benjamin stopped walking immediately and Avery stumbled over her own feet. “You’re with the police?” His voice dropped down again. She was losing him. She had to remember most people didn’t find comfort in the company of law enforcement, even if they weren’t guilty of a crime.
“I’m with my date, Benjamin,” Avery reminded, trying to refocus the magic in her voice. Calming. Present. Trustworthy. “But you did ask my profession, and so I obliged.”
There was a mixture of emotions on his face. Discomfort was at the forefront, but it melted with a sudden realization. “Oh my God, so you don’t actually know who I am?”
Avery attempted a charming smile through her own vexation at still being held on to by this stranger. Under most circumstances, with some few exceptions, Avery didn’t like being touched. Spending so long without it had only deepened that aversion. “I know your name is Benjamin.”
He smiled in a way that conveyed both relief and embarrassment simultaneously. “Call me Ben.” The offer of a nickname—her magic was working. “I’m—well, I was Eira’s confidant and companion before she died. And a whole lot more if you want to believe what they print in the papers.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t read about you,” admitted Avery.
He laughed, throwing his head back. “You know you might be the only one in all of London who hasn’t?”
Avery searched for a convincing plausible reason aside from the truth. “I’ve…been out of the country for a while. Moved back a few days ago to be home.”
“That is so goddamn refreshing, you know that?” His voice had returned again to its natural pitch.
It was a symphonic tenor that skipped dramatically between high and low for emphasis like an actor’s might.
“The tabloids were brutal about me, and crass. They hounded Eira and I, writing whatever whim or fancy came to them. Assaulted us with photographs—constantly trying to catch us in the act.”
“The act?”
“Sex, obviously!” The exclamation, while stage-whispered, drew scolding looks from a few nearby mourners. Benjamin stuck his tongue out at them like a child and continued walking.